


After

by BittersweetParakeet



Category: Phan, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cancer, Character Death, Death, Drinking, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BittersweetParakeet/pseuds/BittersweetParakeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan has to cope with Phil's death. </p><p>Trigger warning for death and cancer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

Dan slammed the door behind him and threw the pamphlet down onto the counter. He loosened the tie around his neck and ripped the suit jacket off of his body with a ferocity he'd never felt before. He threw open the fridge and rummaged around for something. There was almost no food in it, with most of the fiberglass shelves stocked with alcohol of various qualities and quantities. He pulled out out and smashed the neck of the bottle against the countertop, too enveloped in his emotions to properly pry off the lid. It shattered into a brilliant mess of dark green glass and foamy beer. He cursed himself and extracted another bottle out of the fridge, this time actually taking the time to open it. 

He deposited himself on the couch and stared blankly at the wall. The flat was very quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of him drinking. He only moved to get himself another bottle. He could almost hear Phil's voice cautioning him, begging him to be careful. 

Dan was a mess. 

Dan had always been a mess, a torrential downpour of clumsiness and cynicism. He had only become more bearable when he started hanging out with Phil, since they were both so alike. Then they had moved in together and fallen in love, though neither of them really knew which came first. For a short while, their lives had been happy ones filled with video games, sweets, and the occasional broken mug. It had been a saccharine romance, like the ones in books. 

Then Phil had gotten ill. Then came the diagnosis. Leukemia. Then their lives had become less sweet. Their happiness, like Phil himself, began to die. Dan watched as his beautiful, vibrant Phil faded into gray. At first, it hadn't been too bad. Phil had been optimistic about his condition. He thought he could beat it, as if it were just a difficult level in the video game of life. Then he started deteriorating even more. The treatments weren't working. Dan remembered the day he walked into the hospital room and Phil was pulling out his jet black hair in thick clumps. The doctors all said the same thing: there was no hope for him. Dan was forced to watch as the love of his life became an emaciated shell. 

The Phil he had locked away in a maple casket and buried was not the Phil he had fallen in love with at the age of sixteen. His Phil was a funny, energetic whirlwind of lions and awkwardness. His Phil drank sludge-colored smoothies and said inappropriate things at inappropriate times. His Phil was  _alive._ The thought made Dan's heart ache. He took another sip of his fourth glass of whiskey. It did very little to lessen the throbbing pang in his chest. 

He had been there when Phil finally died. He had held his pale, bony hand. He had stared tearfully into those blue-green eyes that he adored so much. He had heard the very last exhale come out of the wasted shell that had once been his boyfriend. He had seen Phil's skeletal chest fall for the last time. That very moment when Phil died was ultimately the worst moment of Dan's life, when his world collapsed into itself and imploded and exploded at the same time. Dan vaguely remembered running home after sobbing with Phil's parents and drinking himself into oblivion. 

Dan chanced a glance at the clock. 10 P.M. He'd been sitting there for three hours, drinking and thinking. He looked at the small knoll of bottles that he accumulated over the past hours. If he drank anymore, he'd be seriously ill. Not that he minded. He caught a glimpse of his untouched glass of vodka. It wouldn't hurt to finish it, he thought. 

He chugged it, regretting it immediately as it burned its way down his arid throat. He was extremely intoxicated. His body felt numb. The agony in his chest had become a muted sting. His mind was a muddled soup of random thoughts. Phil's laugh swirled in his brain, along with an assortment of other things, like the feeling of Phil's lips on his own. He stumbled out of the living room and ducked into the first room he could find. He fell onto something soft and comfy, a mattress obviously. To his chagrin, the sheets were green and blue, not black. This was Phil's room. 

He was much too drunk to find his way to his own room, so he decided to settle there. He'd sleep for now and worry later. Right now, he needed to sleep. He needed to sleep off the alcohol and the initial heartbreak of his soulmate's passing. 


End file.
